She repeated the same move and found it easier this time. When swinging the bottom end of the staff up, her right arm naturally moved forward. Then she allowed it to fall under its own weight. Thump, it struck the ground. Swing, relax and fall. Thump. Repeat. She continued walking and swinging the staff up and letting it fall until it felt natural.
Robin had said to do it until her arms fell off. Camilla nodded in sudden understanding. Her arms were already getting tired, but the actions came smoother, requiring less effort. Soon her body remembered each step of the sequence without thinking about it.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The washerwoman heard a group of boys from the academy talking in whispers about two strangers that had arrived earlier and that they were staying at the inn. The names they provided didn’t match the memory of old man Tucker, a farmer who had once been a foot soldier in the King’s army. The old man said he recognized the Weapons Master from his service back then. He suspected the other was the King’s Slave Master, although he’d never laid eyes on him. Never one to keep quiet, old man Tucker quickly spread the information to his closest twenty friends in the small village.
The boys from the academy sipped watered-wine while quietly discussing the rumors. They spoke in voices that carried, as so many overconfident boys do. A tall boy stage-whispered, “They say he leads processions of slaves through the streets of Pendleton, slaves captured in far-off lands that he’s going to sell.”
Another cadet, one with flaming red hair responded, “It’s true. Nobles pause and watch the new slaves pass, careful to take note of any they might be interested in.”
A third, younger than the others lifted his watered wine, but before drinking, said, “Hey, I thought slavery is forbidden.”
The first to speak, a tall young man near graduation age, snorted. “Slavery is officially non-existent and against the law. But, captured soldiers and those who provide them with critical services to fight in wars against us find themselves on the auction block. King Ember justifies it as repatriation for the financial losses we’ve faced in the kingdom. They simply pay us back for their crimes with servitude.”
The washerwoman stood at a nearby table and listened while folding and hand-pressing an impressive pile of laundry into neat stacks. She folded the same shirt three times as she listened. The inn allowed her a small space to work in one corner of the common room to distribute her clothing, provided she paid the owner a small gratuity. Knowing that her patrons usually stayed for a mug or two of their favorite beverage while collecting their clothing, the innkeeper often refused her coin, and sometimes filled her mug to repay her for the customers she brought in.
“Why are the two men trying to hide their identity?” the youngest of the three asked, his voice soft but carrying to her ears in the quiet of the inn. “They are some of the most important men in the kingdom.”
The red-haired boy leaned closer. “If it’s really them. That old man might not know anything at all.”
Robin almost nodded in agreement. Many people spend a night or two at the inn before moving on, and it had six rooms upstairs. Sooner or later travelers that look like other people had to stay there. Still, it wasn’t like old man Tucker to error when he’d served the King for so long. The question isn’t if it’s them. The question is: If it is them, why are they here? She folded the clothing slower, giving herself an excuse to remain and listen.
Two regular patrons sat across from each other at another nearby table. Jeb mucked the stalls and did odd jobs at the building that was used as a stable. Billy Bryson worked at the mill. A pegboard sat between them while they took turns rolling the dice.
Jeb’s words penetrated her thinking. “Their horses were worn out. Ridden hard, like in a hurry from a long ways off.”
Billy Bryson glanced up and spoke in the voice he used when he didn’t believe what he’d heard. “To get here? Who in their right minds would ride a horse half to death to get to Nettleton?”
Jeb rolled his dice and moved a peg on the board. “Just saying what I know.”
The information, combined with what else she’d overheard troubled her. When two of the King Ember’s most important ministers show up on horses run half to death, there’s a reason. She tried to think of a positive reason for those two rushing to Nettleton.
Jeb watched Billy Bryson roll and make a move that carried his red peg far past Jeb’s black. “I asked how long they were staying so I could know for the horses, the feed and so on. Both shrugged like they were hiding something. One said ‘a few days’.”
Billy looked interested. “They say anything else?”
“Just the usual talk about feed and watering, but that older one gave me a sly look and asked if we had a lot of orphans living around here.”
“Orphans? What does he intend by that?”
Robin moved around the table holding her laundry as if she needed to fold on the other side, the side closer to the old men. The word ‘orphan’ triggered something in her. Only one child in the village met that description. Camilla. Why would they be staying in Nettleton a few days and asking about her, unless it was about the mark of the dragon on her back? The village barely deserved to be called one, it was so small. What else could take them three whole days in Nettleton?
The old men continued with their dice game and a change of subject. Robin changed spots again, covertly listening to the discussion at another table, but never hearing anything else of interest. She eased closer to the students at the academy again and listened to tales of their boyhood adventures that were certainly lies.
A man threw open a door on the balcony that circled the entire common room of the Red Dog Inn. He stepped to the railing and looked over as if he owned the building, wine racks, tables and chairs, and everything else. While looking down, he gave the appearance his nose was raised into the air in a superior manner. His stance was one more used to the presence of nobles than workers in fields, stables, and farms.
He is the King’s man for sure. Robin flicked her attention away as he examined all in the room and his eyes drew down to her. She concentrated on folding and hand-pressing without hurrying. Old man Tucker was right. But why was the man here? Why three days? What would their reaction be when they found she was not here?
The stranger continued to gaze at each person in the great room as if memorizing them and decided the fate of each. Only then did he descend the log staircase and seat himself at a table alone. The new barmaid, Bev, the oldest girl from the family with the apple orchard that grew along the river leaped to his table with a smile. She wiped her hands on her apron as if they needed to be cleaner for this patron. They passed a few words, she flitted off, only to return almost instantly with a mug of ale and another warm smile.
A second stranger entered, this time through the front door under the wooden image of a red dog hanging above. After throwing the door open, he glanced around briefly and dismissively as he went directly to the empty seat opposite the first man. His demeanor was every bit as officious and overbearing, his nose was also held slightly higher than that of the locals. They put their heads together.
Robin glanced at an empty table near them. She’d refolded the same shirt so many times she felt silly but remained in her usual place. Her eyes were downcast when the second man stood and walked in her direction. He carefully examined the clothing on the table and retreated without a word passing between them. She looked at the shirt again and noticed it was small, fit for a child, such as a twelve-year-old boy. Or girl. He was looking for information on Camilla, she felt sure.